


Of Valour

by bluebells



Series: This is how he looks after you [3]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blindfolds, Cultural Identity, M/M, One day I'll move on from that fight but it is not this day, POV Second Person, Secret Relationship, Yearning, s01e03 coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: You wonder how old he was when he first learned to do this. You wonder where he was and with whom. You'd like to close your hands around their throat.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Paz Vizla
Series: This is how he looks after you [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997341
Comments: 23
Kudos: 140





	Of Valour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArtOfRykan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtOfRykan/gifts).



> Inspired by Rykan's [NSFW manip](https://twitter.com/ArtOfRykan/status/1297110674502549510?s=19) on Twitter, go follow her for more gorgeous Paz/Din content.
> 
> This could be read as a sequel to ["Discretion is the better part"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24508327), but also stands on its own. If you're wondering about the title's spelling; I'm Australian.

Maybe you had a chance. And maybe you squandered it.

Maybe Din relents when you offer a compromise (no small sacrifice), and you can hear the dark smile in his voice when he cocks his head, beskar gleaming in the covert's low light, "You first."

He doesn't think you'll follow through with it. You're the guardian of your heritage, the one who stands between the covert's survival and selective amnesia. This tenet is new, but no less sacrosanct: no Mandalorian de-helmed before the eyes of another living being. This is the way.

But where there is a will, one can always find another way.

"You first," Din says again, when you offer the blindfold.

Your throat is tight and you need to turn your back when the moment of truth comes. Your fingers are leaden. Your helmet has never felt so heavy as in the moment you lift it in the presence of another for the first time in years. The unfiltered air feels thick.

You remind yourself to breathe.

Din's hand closes on your shoulder, and you forget all over again.

The blindfold is soft and smooth, light powder blue. It is some of the finest fabric you could procure, but Din will never know it came from your late mother's wardrobe. She had so few things like this towards the end, each time the covert ran, more and more of your old lives shed along the way.

You intended this for him. He deserves no less. In the past, it was always he who wore the blindfold.

This time, he binds it carefully over your eyes instead, firm and tight. You're just grateful it doesn't carry her perfume anymore (a guilty sting tails the end of that thought, you miss her every day but you don't want to think of her now).

The hand on your shoulder turns you around, and your heart thunders knowing you must stand face-to-face. He made you strip bare, testing your pride and the mettle of your word--

(Are you truly sorry for your blunder?)

How much do you want him? Really?

\-- But baring your face-- above all else feels--

"Are you--?" Your voice chokes at the brush of fingers on the bare nape of your neck, teasing the sensitive skin before sinking to curl in your hair. His fingers knead a light massage, testing.

You breathe out harshly through your nose, neck tilting to resist the involuntary shiver under his touch.

How many times have you imagined his hands on you? How many turns of this sun have you longed to know the burn of his skin?

It's something in the closeness of the air, maybe the hum of a breath; you can sense, you anticipate, you ache for it but you're still surprised when the heel of that hand holds you firm.

And then he kisses you.

You almost drop your helmet.

His lips are warm, slightly chapped and still more than you imagined. His mouth is soft. You lean into him until the kisses turn wet.

You wonder how old he was when he first learned to do this. You wonder where he was and with whom. You'd like to close your hands around their throat.

He breathes you in, kisses you slowly to understand. He smiles at what he finds.

Is he also wearing a blindfold?

"You would expose me before them? You'd bring me so low?" Din had growled when you left the armoury, and if he was stung by your challenge, he hid it well.

Maybe you two could have had a chance before you drew a knife on him before the alor, but you're one of the last bastions of the ancestral tradition. The way must be guarded. He shared tables with the ones who killed us.

And still you want him.

You churn with equal guilt as longing.

Who is the real traitor here?

He catches your hand when you seek to feel if he's wearing a blindfold, too. That ache in your chest burns under his laugh huffed between you.

He settles your hand on his shoulder. Here, the gesture says. This is what you're allowed.

His naked front glides against your skin, warm, muscled and glorious, and you groan deep in your chest.

His kiss almost feels chastising.

And you understand: you're not the one who gets to keep him. But you kiss him back. Your fingers curl into his flesh.

You'll make it last.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I can write them without one of them pining like an entire forest moon, but this is the current flavour of self-indulgence.
> 
> Come give me dialogue to write for them on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bellsybuilds) or [Tumblr](https://bellsybuilds.tumblr.com).
> 
>  **Permissions:** You do not need to ask for permission to make translations, podfics, fanfic or fanart for any of my stories-- I do ask that you link back to my original work and let me know because I would LOVE to share what you've created.


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